


Not so many words

by katiebuttercup



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Post The Final Problem, Sherlock misses mary, Sherlock worries about John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 22:51:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11861283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katiebuttercup/pseuds/katiebuttercup
Summary: Sherlock and Molly have a more satisfying conclusion to the final problem





	Not so many words

Disclaimer: characters belong to the BBC and Conan Doyle 

Sherlock grabs blindly at the mobile phone on his nightstand, before the noise awakens his bedmate. 

Sherlock runs a soothing hand down the curve of Molly's spine, urging her back into slumber when she stirs. With the other he glares at the small screen ready to unleash a torrent of abuse at whoever dares encroach on his morning. It had better be at least an eleven case.

BRINGING ROSIE ROUND NOW BE ABOUT 10 MINS -JW

It takes an embrassingly long time for Sherlock's brain to catch up but when he does he feels as if he's been jolted by electricity. 

Oh god Rosie. He'd promised to look after Rosie today. He glances back at Molly, a frown marring her features and he realises she's cold-he'd dragged the duvet away from her in his shock. Carefully Sherlock wraps the sheet around her, a strong, feeling of something hot and deliciously painful sprouting in his chest cavity. Molly snuggles deeper and Sherlock resolves to buy her a set of his sheets since she seemed to enjoy them so much.

He looses precious minutes staring at Molly, it's like getting lost in his mind palace. The shine of Molly's hair shouldn't arrest his attention so. The fall of it against the slope of her shoulder shouldn't transfix him. But it does. So when he drags himself away he realises he's lost at least five minutes. 

It's difficult to tear himself away, he's aware that last night was a catalyst. A release, but they had to talk. He had to explain. He had shown his love for Molly he hoped with his body last night. She had welcomed him into her body willingly. But sex was only a plaster on a gaping wound.

To fix that they would have to talk, Sherlock would have to use the tools he's only just learned he possessed to show Molly his heart. It was a terrifying prospect. Eurus had stripped his tightly held control with ease. He had no idea what would lie on the other side. She had shown him his heart and yet he was still at a loss at what to do with what was left. There was no instruction manual just messy emotions he'd spent a lifetime circumventing until it had blown up in his face. He makes a face at the analogy but it was still fitting.

He needs Molly, and not only in his bed. He is still grasping what that means how this new facet of his personality fits into the Sherlock Holmes he sees in the mirror everyday. 

He's dressed in pajamas and a night gown when he hears John's unmistakable tread on the stair-if he's honest he misses that sound more than he will ever admit. 

Sherlock searches for something inconspicuous to be doing and finally settles on making a cup of tea. He ignores the slight tremour in his wrist. He's lied to John before, numerous times and for less reason. But that was before Mary. Before Sherringford.

"Hey," John greets him, he looks well, better then he has in ages and Sherlock is surprised by just how glad he is. John frowns for a second, worry closing his features. 

"Your not dressed? Did you have a bad night?"

Sherlock struggles for an answer. Being back at 221B had helped to settle him but he still had nightmares. Thirty years of repressed memories coming out of the woodwork to haunt him. 

But last night?

No, last night had been the best night of his life. 

"No, I just forgot about Rosie. Sorry."

But John had his Doctor hat on and wouldn't be diverted. 

"Are you sure? You look like you didn't get much sleep last night,"

Sherlock may not be the best at social cues but he knows that confirming John's suspicions wouldn't be a good idea. Especially since Molly may take offense at having their sex life (however new) broadcast to their friends. Not until Sherlock had spoken to Molly about it anyway.

"I was awake. Molly came over,"

John's face cleared, "That's great news," John beams. Rosie gurgled in apparant approval.

"Did you guys talk?"

Sherlock's mind flashes back to the night before, of slick skin against skin, of promises and pleas.

He'd done an embrassing amount of pleading but he couldn't fault the results. 

Unable to face John directly he settles one hand at the base of his neck, feeling the slightly raised flesh where Molly had left a not so little reminder of their passion. He hoped his curls covered it.

"We talked. Some." Sherlock says evasively. 

John sits Rosie in the arm chair and turns to look Sherlock in the eye. 

"Some?" John parroted, "what does that mean?"

Several answers circle through Sherlock's mind but none seem to fit answers that would satisfy John and not mortify Molly. 

"Are things okay with you and Molly?" John asks. 

A flash of Molly wrapping supple legs around his hips before pinning him to the bed momentarily derails Sherlock's cognitive ability. 

"Yes. I think so." He remembers whispering "I love you," over and over into the hollow of her throat, tasting the salt of sweat and the delicious scent of Molly as they moved together. 

"You think?" John prods. 

"Like I said, not many actual words were spoken"

Sherlock can pinpoint the moment understanding hits his best friend. His features contorting into myriad different expressions in a few moments. 

Sherlock can't see his face when he picks up Rosie and panic kicks in his gut. Hard. The guilt that had low key settled in his stomach comes full force. The guilt that he was happy and John wasn't. That he had Molly and John no longer had Mary.

"What are you doing?" 

John's grin can only be described as shit eating. He chuckles wryly. 

"I'm finding another babysitter," John says, he levels a finger at Sherlock, "and you are going back to bed."

For the first time in a long time Sherlock is dumbstruck. John pauses st the door, his grin still ever present. Sherlock realises he's given John the tools to make his life difficult for the forseeable future. It's a price he's willing to pay to keep John's friendship.

"Tell Molly I said hi" 

John's footsteps fade away and Sherlock heads back to the bedroom to do just that.


End file.
